


do the stars come on odd numbers too?

by weaponofmasscreation



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Immortality, Loneliness, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 10:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25469320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weaponofmasscreation/pseuds/weaponofmasscreation
Summary: No one could understand how she felt. How tiring it was to be pulled and pushed in the tide of people dancing through life, wanted and discarded, loved and forgotten, until she was left staring up at the stars every night, wondering whether they came in odd numbers too.Wondering if there was a ball of burning gas in that endless sky that felt as lost as she did, because no one ever stayed.Me thinks she is too just too old for this 'caring' business. It only hurts.
Kudos: 5





	do the stars come on odd numbers too?

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! I haven't posted to this account in a while, but I thought I'd turn my favorite original piece into a DW fic bc... why not? 
> 
> Really, this is me projecting my own insecurities onto an immortal character as if my ego needs that... Lmao, enjoy ^^

She never learned.

After so much time on this earth, living and watching and hurting, one would think she would know better by now.

But she always fell for it.

Me presented herself as haughty and cold, so above the dregs of human society and the need for all those petty things like love, companionship, or happy endings But there was just something about normal people’s smiles, something pure and good that sometimes, unwittingly, wormed its way into her heart. Something genuine. She didn’t know how to be genuine anymore.

Other people had such a limited time to make their mark on the world, on the other normal people around them. To fill their lives with everything they wanted, everyone they needed, and it showed in the bright smiles and eager eyes and grasping hands, so determined to pull other into their little bubble of experience and accomplishments until one day, finally, the bubble popped, taking it all with them into obscurity. Living faintly in memories until they too faded from existence.

Her bubble had been growing for quite some time now. But it didn’t have very many people to show for it. How could it, when they all disappeared so quickly?

Being immortal wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, really.

Watching people you love die, or draw away, or break you heart is bound to change one after a while. She had been in more fights she could count, said more hurtful things that were too late to take back, filled more photo albums with pictures than she had room for. She had stopped smiling in wedding photos.   
Invitations were carefully preserved, scraps of cloth from clothes that had been worn to special events, locks of hair and lipstick prints, old napkins and phones numbers, all packed away in boxes and pushed into corners in whichever temporary residence she was in, taunted her on lonely nights when the rain poured down and she was on her second bottle of rosé.

And still…

“You can’t just push people away in fear of being hurt!”  
Her latest confidant who she met with every Saturday morning, like clockwork, the morning coffee a long-standing routine since the nineties. Brandi’s face was more wrinkled, more tired, and her lipstick was starting to bleed nowadays, for lack of a good pencil, but she was still the feisty girl who had been a treasured friend for at least 35 years now. 

Of course, Brandi would never understand how she felt. How tiring it was to be pulled and pushed in the tide of people dancing through life, wanted and discarded, loved and forgotten. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Normal people just had such short attention spans. 

Her eyes fixed on the vibrant lipstick print on Brandi’s coffee cup, sipping her own earl grey quietly. Around them, the café bustled with people in a hurry, cups and spoons clanked, baristas murmured and laughed behind the coffee machines. She knew every single person in the shop, could tell who was walking through the door from the first ring of the bell. She had worked here many years ago, and she knew the newbies from the seasoned baristas, just from the squeal of the milk steamer and the length of time it took for the drink to reach the customers. Today was the barista’s first shift. He was doing an admirable job, but he was burning the milk a little more than she liked.

“I know you’re listening. I’ve known you long enough to recognize the look in your eye. You’re going to say something like ‘you don’t understand the burden of being an immortal…’” Brandi’s tone dropped into something like mockery, though it was only friendly teasing. 

The woman knew. Of course she knew. No amount of makeup could hide the passage of time, or lack of it in this case. She could have blamed botox and a good foundation for her suspiciously clear, unwrinkled skin, and she had, to some people. But Brandi wasn’t stupid. It was kind of hard to hide the weathered, weary look in her eyes, the tired smile of someone much older than how she appeared.

“Maybe I don’t understand it. But I’m old enough to know how painful it is hold everyone at arm’s length. Don’t you remember what I was like after Luke left me?” 

She did. She also remembered when Brandi met Luke, and once again forced herself to endure the change from best friend to third wheel. And instead of Brandi and her laughing in the front seat of her car, it was Brandi and Luke, while she sat in the back and watched them like a movie, slowly bricking up her crumbled walls and wondering why she thought she could do this after this same scene had repeated countless times over the years. 

Because it always changed. No matter how many promises people made to each other, friendships changed when romance happened. Priorities shifted, time ran out, and she was left staring up at the stars every night, wondering whether they came in odd numbers too. Wondering if there was a ball of burning gas in that endless sky that felt as lost as she did, because no one ever stayed.

Of course, she couldn't expect anyone to pause their life to be with her forever. That would be ridiculous. The holder of her gift, the alien tech that had brought him back to life and made him as unkillable as her, was long gone, and she wouldn't have wanted him to stay anyway.

So she let Brandi love Luke. She let her draw away and barely make it to Saturday coffees and grow quiet and harried. It was fine, she had dealt with it before and she would deal with it again. She stopped drinking two bottles of rosé and staring up at the stars so that she wouldn't cry. And then one day it all came crashing down, and suddenly Brandi needed her. It felt good to be needed. 

Brandi had been a mess. It had been hard to remember how to be the caring friend again, to mold herself into what the other girl needed and break out of the cold, rigid cycle that she had fallen into to protect her heart. It meant midnight therapy sessions and freeing every afternoon and weekend for her friend, being the rock with an open ear and soothing advice, and months of trying to make her see how much better she deserved. 

Selfishly, she was glad that Luke was gone. No more sharing. And even more selfishly, she relished the attention and the desperation as Brandi came running back to her. She had her Saturday morning coffee back and after a while, it was almost like it had never happened. 

Brandi smiled that bright, grateful smile every time she walked in the café, and she felt her resolve to be distant and apart from humanity crumble yet again.

Brandi was right- it was painful to hold everyone at arm’s length. But she wouldn’t understand how much more painful it was to watch the few she let past her walls decide to leave again.

“It can’t be healthy to on your own for so long.”

“Am I on my own?” she murmured finally, looking up to meet Brandi’s eyes. Her expression was carefully blank, but her heart squeezed at the statement. This argument wasn’t new to her, and it grew more and more frustrating every time it was brought up.

“You know what I mean…” Brandi rolled her eyes, setting down her mug with a sigh. “What’s it been… thirty years I’ve known you, and never once have I seen you love someone. It’s probably been a lot longer. When are you going to let someone in?”

She almost laughed at that. This was the great debate, wasn’t it? Normal people viewed romance and sex as so important, as if you couldn’t be a real human without experiencing them. They were so desperate to give themselves body and soul to another, before their time as up and they were no longer desirable. Anyone who didn’t fit that mold they poured themselves into without question was someone wrong, or lacking, or hurting themselves.

Immortality was a lonely business. But how could she attach herself to someone who would only fade like dew when the sun rose? Friendship was hard enough in a world where it was view as secondary to love.

“I let you in. Is that not enough?” she tilted her head at Brandi, who looked uncomfortable, shifting in her seat and reaching into the pocket of her coat.

“You know it’s not the same. And… you may not have me as much anymore.” 

A crisp, white envelope was slid across the table, her name in careful, looping cursive sharp enough to bore into her heart. And she felt her stomach sink into the floor, her mouth grow dry and sticky as the coffee shop noises faded, muffled, into the background. A ring, a beautifully cut diamond that shined in the warmth like of the café, flashed in front of her eyes before it was withdrawn and toyed with idly.

“I’m engaged again.” Brandi confirmed when she rose her gaze from the paper again, nodding in answer to the fearful question in her eyes. “Oh, don’t look so horrified! It won’t be like last time. This guy is… so much different.” 

“Why didn’t I know about this before?” she managed, taking the envelope into her hands hesitantly, as if it could bite her any moment. After countless Saturdays together, the fact that she didn’t know about Brandi’s new beau made her uneasy. Had she simply not been paying attention? 

“Because I remember what you were like last time. Do you think I missed those mournful stares?” Brandi laughed, picking up her mug again and sipping her latte as if the world wasn’t currently falling down around the immortal’s ears this very second. “This is why you need to find more than me. If I can find love again after all this time, surely you can?”

“Love…” she scoffed before she could stop herself, frustration bubbling up inside her chest like angry butterflies. She was tired, she was so tired of being told to find love. Like her attempts at friendship weren’t good enough. Like her life would be so much better if she let the chemicals in her brain trick her into sharing herself with someone who wouldn’t even be around long enough to fulfil her endless, impossible existence. “What would love do for me, other than eventually break my heart? Do you think I’ve gone so long in this world without finding out exactly how things work? I don’t age, Brandi. I cant grow old with anyone. I don’t want to give myself hope that will only crumble when someone eventual grows tired of me, or dies, or gets married! Not even you-!” She slammed her teacup down, rattling the saucer, and stood up. Brandi’s eyes were wide, witnessing a rare emotional episode that she rarely let happen, and for a moment she felt a twinge of guilt at the tears gathering in her eyes. Then she shoved the dreaded invitation into her bag and turned away, on the verge of tears herself. “I’m sorry-“

“You were going to say that not even I can stay with you long term, weren’t you?” Brandi’s soft voice stopped her in her tracks, and she sighed, turned back with a tearfully apologetic look. “No, don’t. I know.”

“I’ll.. see you later.”

“You’ll see me at my wedding, at least.”

“I’ll have to check if I can make it-“

“You be there.” The tone was non-negotiable, and she knew it was true. She would be there. She always was.

The walk home was a blur, or at least her eyesight was. The day passed like a dream, like a smudged painting of colours mixed into a murky grey. One moment she was face down on the couch, eyes dry and burning and chest tight. The next she was at the window, holding a cup of coffee that was ice cold and heavy in her hand.

Blue sky turned to sunset, sunset turned to dusk, and dusk turned to starlight, and still she stood, watching the earth turn slowly and wondering why it had the right to go on as if nothing was wrong. Why could the world move on with their silly, pointless, hamster-wheel lives while she was stuck in quicksand, sinking and fighting for air, let alone a hand to hold her above it all?

'Never once have I seen you love someone.'

'When are you going to let someone in?'

What could Brandi know, what could anyone know about love? Love that stayed, love that didn’t fade, love that continued on through decades and centuries and millenniums? No one could provide that for her. No one could even give a fraction of that. What was love when not even friendship could continue unbreakingly?

And yet she fell. 

Every time, when she was at her most vulnerable, there was a smile, a touch, and friendly gaze, and she grabbed hold of it, putting all of her hopes onto a person who would just do this. Again and again. She couldn’t be angry at a world that wanted love, but what was she supposed to do?

Slowly, she turned from the window and pulled the wedding invitation out of her bag. Opening a box full of slips of paper an decorated card, lace and calligraphy and polaroids of smiling couples, herself a specter in the background, stone faced and impeccably dressed. Some were black and white, some were sepia, faded and muted colours dispersed among the brighter, more modern photographs, but every one was a friend that had chosen wedded bliss instead of her. She placed Brandi’s invitation on top of the pile, right next to the last one, and closed the box.

God forbid the Doctor ever find out how... nostalgic she was.

She never learned.

**Author's Note:**

> This was really for my own gratification, but if you liked it, let me know!


End file.
